What it Means
by cubye4
Summary: If Ron stopped Harry before he walked into the forest in Deathly Hallows. One shot.


_Alrighty, so here's the story. As you probably can tell from my profile page, I haven't updated my stories in quite a long time, and if that annoys you, you can imagine how it annoys me. So I thought to myself, that I wanted to finish the next chapter of my story More than Just a Mistake, after the last movie came out, but because of its release, and its inspiration, another idea that had been in my head for a while already, came back and would simply not leave. I've seen other people write stories along this line, but I haven't found one that I really liked all that much, so I've decided to give this idea a try of my own. It really bothered me that when Harry said goodbye to Ron and Hermione, Ron didn't seem to have any reaction at all, which bothered me greatly. So I decided to write what I thought should have happened._

_By the way, this is a Harry/Ron friendship story, not slashy or anything. H/G, R/Hr all the way! _

_Ok, I think that's enough of my rambling. On to the story._

Disclaimer: No, I do not own Harry Potter, if I did, I wouldn't be putting this stuff on fanfiction!

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><p><strong>By Cubye4<strong>

The grounds of Hogwarts, which had once had a welcoming feeling about them, were now covered in the horrors of a battle that seemed to be nowhere near its end. There were bodies, those of the fallen, that still lay strewn across the bloodied grass. Debris was spread about the ground as well, and Ron had to be careful not to trip over a chipped stone or broken piece of glass.

It wasn't far from dawn, Ron could tell, looking up at the sky, and yet the darkness in his soul made it seem as though sunrise was never going to arrive. The gray clouds of devastation seemed to be relentlessly closing in from above, as though they wished to suffocate the air. They were doing a damn good job of it, too.

Ron could not remember the last time he had been able to breathe properly without the stabbing pain of despair gripping his chest. It seemed as though every time he tried to draw in breath, his brain would flash an image of one of the dead across his mind and he was sent spluttering for air. How was it possible that there could be so many dead? So many innocent people lost because of the greed, the evil, of one?

It didn't seem fair. But when had life ever been fair for Ron?

When had life ever been fair for any of them?

Walking across the grass, trying to dispel the images of still, limp bodies from his mind, Ron tried his best not to think about the terrible luck he seemed to have, tried not to think about those things in the past. If they were to have any hope of winning the war, he knew, it would do no good to dwell on past failures, but to try and be optimistic of the future.

But Ron wasn't good with optimism. No, that had never been his strong suite. He couldn't look at something that was all bad and see if there was a way to make it good. The cup was always half empty for him. It was why he counted on Harry and Hermione so much. They were the only ones who could knock sense into him when he had none of his own. They were the ones who didn't give up hope, even once Ron was long past even dreaming.

But he was walking alone right now, and all he had was his hopelessness as company. He had left Hermione with his family when Oliver Wood had come into the Great Hall, asking for people to help him bring in all those who were still alive, yet too injured to walk themselves. It was the escape Ron desperately needed, and so he had jumped up to offer his assistance. He had tried not to notice Hermione's look of pity when he told her that she should stay behind, that he needed to do this, and that he needed to be alone.

Once he was out of the doors he realized just how true that was. He didn't think he would be able to go back in there if he tried. How could he walk back inside that room and again face all those faces, all the dead, all the living? It was too much; it was all too much, too real.

Not that it was much better outside, but at least there he was alone. There he was able to truly shed his tears, truly grieve. Grieve for Fred and Remus, Tonks, and all the countless other people who had perished for this cause. Alone, he could accept the truth, accept the grief, and shove it away so that he could continue fighting.

And that is what Ron did as he continued to walk along the grass. Gain control, a sense of composure.

There wasn't much more time he would have left in which he would be able to do that.

The hour was almost up, the hour Voldemort had set for Harry, and when that time was finished, the battle would once again be in full swing. When Harry did not hand himself over, Voldemort and his army would attack full force, and once that happened, there would be no room in Ron's head for mourning, only for staging the best defense he could manage.

Yes, it was only a matter of time before Voldemort realized that Harry was not coming.

Harry.

And now Ron stopped in the grass, because a thought had suddenly crossed his mind. He had not seen Harry in a very long time.

It didn't need to be a cause for worry of course. Hadn't Ron himself walked away from the group to mosey around on his own? Surely Harry, who must be feeling just like him, if not worse, would seek to be alone as well. It was nothing to be worried over, that Ron had not seen Harry since they had all returned from the Shrieking Shack together, but his heart was pounding painfully fast, all the same, and he was suddenly unconcerned with needing to be alone and instead desperate to go inside and see for himself that Harry was safe.

So Ron turned on the spot, and retraced his footsteps back the way he had come.

It was only the instinct of being constantly aware of everything around him, an instinct he had picked up from being on the run from enemies, that caused him to notice the sound of a tree branch crack, not inches from where he was standing.

His wand was in his hand, gripped tight between his fingers, but he dared not make a sound. Instead, he let his senses explore his surroundings, listening intently for another clue as to what had made that noise.

But there was only silence now. Only the nearly undetectable sound of wind could be heard. Or was that wind? If Ron were to be honest with what he was hearing, it sounded more like desperate, anxious, nervous breathing.

And then, looking around again and seeing nothing but the darkness of the world around him, the name flew to the front of his mind again. Harry? Could it be?

And now it was completely quiet, not even the whisper of a noise floated through the air. But Ron had no doubt. He had heard the sound, he knew that for sure. He had seen far too much to assume anything he witnessed as a creation of his own imagination. And so rather than continue his trip up to the castle, he searched around for another clue that would confirm his suspicions, and found one.

The grass around him seemed to be parting on its own from a source that could not be seen. As though wind was blowing it ever so slightly, the blades sank into the dirt that surrounded it, and then popped up again, as though the wind had suddenly decided to cease.

Footsteps. Of this, Ron was absolutely certain.

He followed them. Followed them away from the safety of the castle, followed them far out to where he knew they were headed, the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

He followed them only that far though, because the moment he reached the trees, he yelled out in a voice that was not as brave and demanding as he had expected it to be.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

He didn't need to be able to actually see Harry's face to know how he had reacted. He had known his best friend for seven years, he could see in his mind the way Harry's eyebrows must be constricting, how the corners of his lips must be curving downwards.

Yes, he had known his best friend for seven years, and so he knew also that Harry would turn around, as though he had not heard Ron's voice at all, and continue into the forest.

"I'm not a moron, you know," Ron shouted. "I'm not gonna just leave!"

And Ron crossed his arms over his chest, sticking his feet into the ground to emphasize his commitment to his words.

Still Harry did not respond, but he didn't walk away either, so Ron went on.

"What do you honestly expect to accomplish by this, huh?"

Still silence.

"Don't just ignore me and pretend I'm not here! What! After everything we've been through you're just gonna walk away?"

He didn't realize how loud he was yelling till he heard the echo of his voice reverberate back at him from the trees. But that was overshadowed by his anger, which was growing faster because of his desperation.

What did Harry think he was doing? It was an evil trick by Voldemort, that he should go into the forest and give himself over, and evil trick that Ron thought Harry was far too smart to fall for.

"Hey!" he shouted again. "Don't just stand there and ignore me!"

Finally, Harry conceded. With actions that looked slow and almost painful, Ron watched Harry remove the faithful Invisibility Cloak from around his shoulders, revealing a very tired looking face.

Ron, he realized, hadn't really noticed Harry before. Hadn't really noticed the poor state he was in. His clothes were ripped, torn, singed, and blood stained. His hair was a tangled mess, hopelessly sticking up in every direction, some parts plastered to his forehead from perspiration. His face was the worst. Ron took note, for the first time it seemed, just how deep and dark the circles under his friend's once vibrant eyes were. His skin was so pale he looked as though he hadn't seen the sun in years.

The thing that scared Ron most of all, though, was the slump in his best friends shoulders. It looked very much like a sign of defeat.

"I'm sorry," was the first thing that Harry said, his voice rough and dry.

If Harry had meant his apology to be taken calmly, easily, he was surely mistaken. For Ron felt no sense of forgiveness towards his friend. He felt only pure anger.

"Sorry!" He was screaming, yelling at the top of his lungs. "You're about to walk into the forest, knowing what's in there, without even looking for Hermione or me first, and all you can say is 'sorry'! How selfish can you possibly be! What the _hell_ are you thinking!"

Harry didn't answer. He just watched Ron rant, his eyes getting sadder and sadder.

"What happened to doing things together, the way we agreed? Or does none of that even matter to you anymore? Oh, of course not! Harry Potter can't even be bothered by his stupid friends. No, he has to go by himself, can't let those two dummies mess up his plans, can he?"

He couldn't stop talking. It seemed as if all his frustration had wrapped itself into this anger that he needed to get out. And Harry was the one receiving it.

"What's wrong with you? You just run away from everyone inside the castle as if they don't even matter to you! Do you even care?"

Ron had hit the wrong spot. He knew it. He knew it long before the said the words, but he also knew that he wouldn't be able to stop them from coming out. He never was able to. No matter how many times he begged for Harry's forgiveness, no matter how many times he promised himself he would never screw things up again, he never seemed able to control his emotions.

Even now, knowing in his bones that this was the eve of the end, in one way or the other, he couldn't keep his emotions in check.

But the anger didn't last long, it simply couldn't. There was just too much for it to keep on going, and just like that, it flickered and winked out, leaving only the stale smell of something burnt, and the numbness of something destroyed.

"I'm sorry," Harry said again, and though Ron knew he was the one who should be apologizing, he could seem to get his lips to form the words.

The only thing he could get himself to say, in a strangled, lost tone that didn't match his earlier rage at all, was "What the bloody hell are you doing?"

"Ron, I have to-"

"No, you don't!" Ron cut him off, his voice gaining back some of its strength in its desperation. "You don't have to do this. We can go back to the castle, figure something out."

"There's nothing to figure out, Ron. There's no last mystery to solve, there's no other choice this time."

"There's always another choice."

"Not this time, Ron. This is the only way! "

Ron should have known that his anger would not be kept in check for long. "What do you mean, 'the only way'! _What's_ the only way!"

Harry was looking at the ground beneath his feet as he answered, as though he was bracing himself to say the words. "The only way to destroy him… is to let him destroy me."

More of the silence that Ron was starting to feel physically ill from.

"What are you saying?" Ron asked, fearing the answer with all of his heart.

"I'm his last horcrux."

This was some sort of nightmare. That was the only option. This was all just some sort of terrible nightmare that was going to end soon, and then Ron would open his eyes and he'd be in his room, lying in his bed, with everyone perfectly save. With everything perfectly normal.

Because this could not be happening.

"No, no, that's impossible. That doesn't – that doesn't make any sense!"

"It does, Ron. The way I can see into his mind, the way I can speak to snakes just like he can. It _all_ makes sense, don't you see? All this time-"

"No! Stop it, just stop it, ok?" He didn't want to hear this. It couldn't be true. "Just because you have this… connection with him, doesn't mean that you have a _part_ of him. Why would you even jump to that kind of conclusion?"

"Dumbledore said it, Ron. He told Snape."

Ron let out a laugh that sounded slightly hysterical. "Snape?" he asked. "You mean you heard this from those memories?"

"Yes."

Ron sighed in relief. If he had seen this from Snape's memory, then there was no reason to assume it was true. "But he was a traitor, he _killed_ Dumbledore! How could you possibly believe something from him?"

"He wasn't a traitor, not to us. He was working as a spy for the Order, against Voldemort ever since he decided to attack my mother all those years ago. He had loved her as a child and never stopped. Dumbledore's death had been planned between them."

Harry looked tired by the time he finished saying all of this, and Ron couldn't blame him. He could hardly absorb the words himself. Snape? A spy for the Light Side?

"Harry, are you sure you believe this?"

He nodded his head in confirmation. "I've never believed in anything more than this, in my entire life. I can feel it, Ron."

"But…," Ron had to swallow a few times until he could unstick this throat. "But if it's true… if you really are a… a horcrux…." He didn't think he would be able to say it. This couldn't be possible, this couldn't be happening. "Does that mean that you have to… to d-die?"

It hurt to say the words, hurt to even think that that could be possible. It hurt worse though, to see Harry's nod.

"No! No, no, no!" he mumbled, shaking his head. "No, I won't let you!"

"Ron, you know I have to."

Harry's voice sounded almost as strangled as Ron's did, but he seemed to be fighting for control, to be able to do what Ron knew he had already committed himself to do.

"But maybe you don't," he argued, unsure if he was thinking rationally anymore, or just searching blindly for some kind of hope. "Maybe we can figure something else out. I'm sure Hermione could think of something!"

There was a ghost of a smile on Harry's lips, a sad kind of smile. "Ron, you know just as well as I that Hermione is the smartest witch in our age, but if Dumbledore couldn't think of anything, I don't think Hermione can."

"So we can think of something else maybe. At least give it a try. Harry, there are loads of people in there," he said, gesturing towards the castle. "I'm sure someone can think of _something._"

He was just rambling now, he knew it. But he couldn't stop; he couldn't give up hope, not this time. Not while Harry was the one who seemed to have lost hope. Not while Harry stood there, as resigned as he was, as determined as he was that there was no other option but for him to die. And if Harry wasn't going to keep on fighting, Ron would be the strong one now and do it for him.

"Please, Harry. Please let us at least try."

But Harry was shaking his head, his eyes closed as though he were in pain. As though the sound of Ron's begging was just too much for him.

"Ron, the longer we wait, the longer this war goes on. The longer we wait, the longer we put off finishing this, the more impatient he gets, and more people are just going to get hurt. Ron, I can _end _this."

Ron knew there was nothing more he could say. There was nothing more he would be able to do to dissuade Harry from going through with this. He knew Harry was right, after all. They needed to end this war before it got any worse, before more people died. He knew it, but it didn't mean that he could just accept it.

"But you're not supposed to die, Harry." Ron's voice was no louder than a whisper; he couldn't manage anything more than that.

Because now, on the eve of the end of everything, all that Ron had ever felt, all that Ron had ever thought and had been unable to express, was flooding out as though a dam had been let open and there was no way he was getting it closed again.

"You're not supposed to die," he repeated, desperately. "You're not supposed to die because you're my best friend and you're supposed to be _here_. You're supposed to be here and we're supposed to graduate from Hogwarts together, and become Aurors together. And we're supposed to be the best men at each other's weddings and you're supposed to calm me down when I start to freak out, like you always do. And our kids are supposed to grow up together and we're supposed to wave them off on their first day of Hogwarts as the Express leaves the station. We're supposed to grow old together. And damn it Harry, you're supposed to smack sense into me when I forget who I am, and calm Hermione and me down when we're fighting, and you're supposed to be here to share it all and _not_ six feet under in some grave!"

Tears were now streaming down Ron's cheek, and though through all the time he had known Harry he had never wanted his friend to see him cry, he couldn't care less now, as the wetness continued to leak from his eyes.

Harry didn't seem to care either. He was crying openly as well, sobs shaking his body as he mumbled a string of apologies.

"Please, stop saying you're sorry," Ron begged.

"I _am_ sorry," Harry said. And then he didn't say anything because it looked as though he just plain couldn't. And neither could Ron, though his brain was yelling at him to say something, anything, because he knew he would look back at this moment later and regret not.

And so he said the only thing that he felt needed to be said at this point, the only thing that would fully sum up what he was feeling.

"I love you, mate," Ron managed to say, though the tears were so thick.

Harry looked up, his eyes just as wet, and smiled the first real smile Ron had seen from him in a very long time. For Ron, who had known his best friend for seven years, knew just as equally what those words meant to him. "I love you, too," Harry said, his voice laced with emotion.

With that, they crossed the distance between them and wrapped their arms around the other, embracing for what they both knew would be the last time.

They remained that way for as long as they could, until Harry whispered into his best friend's ear, "It's getting late."

More tears poured down Ron's face at his friend's words.

It was time for Harry to go.

Ron dropped his arms hesitantly, reluctantly. He wiped his tears on his sleeve, though more just came to replace them. He struggled to gain composure as he looked at Harry, trying to study every part of his face, to commit it to memory. But his brain was just not working properly and he couldn't get it to focus. Maybe if he could stop crying, but he knew that that would be impossible.

Harry seemed to be having trouble too. He was taking deep, calming breaths, but they didn't seem to be doing any good. He was staring at Ron just as intently as Ron was staring at him, and for a moment Ron wondered if maybe he wasn't going to be able to walk away. But at that second, Harry's eyes tore themselves away from Ron's face, to look into the forest, and Ron knew that the moment had arrived.

This was it.

Harry turned back once more, looking at Ron with his bright green eyes, which were bloodshot and wet. And in a small voice that shook with each syllable he spoke, he said, "Tell Hermione and Ginny I love them, and I'm sorry. And thank your parents for me, for everything. And thank you, Ron, for sticking with me through all of this, for giving me a family, for letting me see what it's like to have someone who loves you. I'll never be able to thank you enough. Goodbye, Ron."

And with that, he turned around, turned towards the formidable darkness, walking away from Ron forever.

But, just before Harry wrapped the Invisibility Cloak back around his shoulders, and disappeared from sight, Ron called out to him, one more time.

"Give 'em hell, Harry!"

And he turned around, giving Ron the biggest smile he seemed to be able to give, and then Harry was gone.

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><p><em>Alright, not my favorite story ever, but what did you think? I'd love to hear a review!<em>


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